Perfect
by jncar
Summary: The night after their first date. "I can't just casually sleep with a man who's in love with me." Lizzie/Darcy.


**Author's Note: **Wow. It's been a long time since I uploaded anything here regularly, because my main fandom (Parks and Recreation) is mostly on Live Journal. So if you want to read any of my Parks and Rec fics, you can find them on jncar on Live Journal. But since I'm currently addicted to LBD, here we are.

**Perfect**

For a while now Lizzie's thoughts have dissolved into nothing more than a flow of sensation—the taste of tongue against hers, the faint hint of stubble on his cheek as it rubs across her nose, the warmth that spreads through her when she drapes one leg across his lap and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her even closer.

But, eventually, reality intrudes.

_I can't just casually sleep with a man who's in love with me._

How did she get here? How did she come to be standing on this precipice?

_Sitting, actually_, her inner commentator notes as Darcy drags her all the way into his lap.

_God, he's good at this._

And that's how she got here, she realizes. It was that first kiss on her stoop. The one that was supposed to be a kiss goodnight.

Oh, partly it was the whole first date. It had been a _really_ good first date. And of course there had been those weeks of getting to know him all over again, after coming to Pemberly. Knowing the _real _him, instead of the silly judgemental fantasy she'd clung to for so long. And even before that there had been the letter, and the months of rethinking every one of her interactions with him.

But in the end, that kiss goodnight had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

The way he'd looked at her as he'd leaned in—so much hope, and longing, and _admiration_. Then the kiss itself. Tender but strong, nervous but so full of want.

She'd pulled him in for a second kiss almost as soon as broke away from the first, like an addict who couldn't wait for that next hit.

Which was soon followed by inviting him in, and then tumbling onto the sofa, and now _this._

She sits straddling his lap, her skirt hiking high on her thighs, her fingers raking through his hair as she devours his mouth.

Her breath hitches when one of his hands slides up her thigh, sneaking under her skirt, because _oh my god _does she want this. So. Much.

_But I can't just hop into bed with a man who's in love with me._

It would be wrong. It would be taking advantage of him just as surely as George had taken advantage of Lydia and Gigi.

She can't do this. Not until she's sure. Not until she knows her own heart.

Darcy's heart, on the other hand, was never in doubt. She can see it in his eyes every single time he looks at her.

It's a little overwhelming.

Lizzie gasps and pulls back, panting and shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I—I think we need to slow this down a little. I don't want to rush. I mean, it's great. Really great. But I—I think this thing between us could really _be something_, and I don't want to screw it up by moving too fast."

Darcy (_William,_ she reminds herself, _I'm supposed to start calling him William)_nods and pulls his hands back, resting them on the sofa cushions, as if afraid that he won't be able to stop them from doing certain things if he keeps touching her. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.

A moment later he meets her gaze. "I understand. Of course. I don't want to rush things, either. I apologize. I don't usually lose control like this."

"I know you don't. It's actually one of the qualities I admire in you." She means it. After seeing how many problems impulsiveness could cause (both Lydia's and her own), she'd come to appreciate William's control and deliberation in a way she never could have before the events of this past year.

"Thank you," he says, that shy smile she's come to like so much dancing on his face.

She smiles back. "But I also kind of like how I'm one of the only things that makes you lose that control." She means this, too.

He closes his eyes again and swallows. "Um. Do you think you could sit somewhere other than my lap, for a little while?"

Lizzie fights to suppress a wicked giggle and flops gracelessly back onto the sofa beside him, tugging her skirt to cover herself a little better. "Is that better?"

"Yes," he replies, wearing that smile again. "Much."

They hold each other's gazes for a few moments. Just—looking.

Then William clears his throat. "Maybe I should go . . ."

"No!" Lizzie yelps. There goes that impulsiveness again. "I mean, if you feel like you need to, that's fine. But . . . I don't want to you leave, yet."

His heart shines in his eyes, again, when he replies. "Then I'll stay."

"Good." Lizzie feels relaxed and excited all at once. It's confusing in the best possible way. "I, uh, I'll make some coffee. And then we can, maybe, talk for a while?" She shrugs.

"I'd like that. Very much."

So that's what they do. They sip her inexpensive coffee (William doesn't say a word of complaint, even though Lizzie saw the brand he's used to when she had that disastrous tennis-date with Gigi, and knows that this probably tastes like sewer-water in comparison), and sit on the sofa (close but not too close) and talk.

They talk for hours.

Lizzie can't remember the last time she's had an easier or more enjoyable conversation with someone other than Charlotte or Jane.

It flows and winds and twists from normal topics to odd topics to personal topics to trivia and back around again. Everywhere it goes, whether they agree or disagree, whether they are familiar with topic or learning something new for the first time, the conversation is lively and fun, full of warmth and humor. His sense of humor is subtler than hers, but she's learned to find it charming.

How had she ever thought of him as a humorless snob?

_Thank god he'd forgiven me. I can't believe I could've missed out on this._

She makes a second pot of coffee, and they talk some more, eventually feeling safe enough for her to rest her head on him with his arm around her shoulders as they talk. It feels good.  
Comfortable. Like home.

Lizzie blinks in surprise when she realizes that the light in the room has changed as the first rays of dawn break through the blinds.

William's eyes are wide. "Oh my god." He glances at his watch. "It's past six. And I'm supposed to be at a meeting at ten."

"You could call in sick?" says Lizzie, hopefully.

He shakes his head. "I set the meeting. And I'm leading it."

"Oh. Well."

He sighs, withdrawing his arm. "I'm sorry. I need to go and see if I can grab an hour or two of sleep before heading in."

"No. No need to apologize. I understand." She really does. He's responsible and dependable, almost to a fault.

He's responsible and dependable because he has to be. It's who he is, and she appreciates it.

She walks him to the door, where he pauses to meet her eyes again. "Can I see you again tonight?" he asks.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Pick you up at seven?"

She nods. "See you then."

He leans down for one last kiss. A real kiss goodbye, this time.

It definitely leaves Lizzie wanting more.

She stands at the door watching him walk to his car and waves one last time when he sinks into the drivers seat.

After closing the door she leans against it and sighs.

She remembers, so many months ago, making fun of Jane for calling a night of "just talking" with Bing "perfect." If only she'd known just how right Jane was.

A night of nothing but talk really could be _perfect_.

Lizzie feels like she knows William better after that one night of talk than she did after the almost-a-year of acquaintance that had preceded it.

And, though her body is still protesting a little (especially after that goodbye kiss), she's glad she didn't sleep with him.

Because now, when it finally does happen, she knows it won't be because of her raging hormones. And she won't be taking advantage.

When it finally does happen, it'll be because she and William will finally see eye to eye. And _that_—that will be perfect.


End file.
